40. Beau
forty
Beau
O ne song.
That’s all I need to crawl my way out of this hell. One solid track, and I can get back to who I was before I got kicked out of Lithos.
Before I grew a tumor, too.
It’s so simple. Everything I’ve ever wanted is within my gasp. Literally at my fucking fingertips as I sit on the piano bench in Liam’s studio at three in the morning.
My hands clench into fists. So why do I feel sick to my stomach? Like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for fate to decide what it wants to do with me? Either pull me to safety or finally shove me off and end this foolish dream of mine once and for all.
“Beau.”
I smash my fists down on the keys. “You told me to work through this shit. Let me work through it, okay?”
Fuck me for making Liam drive me here in the middle of the night just because I woke up with an itch to write a song.
It’s the most complex piece I’ve ever composed. It might be something . If only I could fucking play it.
“That was before you had brain surgery, Beau. Shit’s gonna take time. There’s a limit to hard work. Even I recognize that now. ”
I let my hands slide off the keys. “Or you recognize that this isn’t working. My career’s over. Just tell me straight up, Liam. I’m done being handled like I’m breakable.”
Fuck the ups and downs of recovery, too. If I’d known I was going to feel like this, I might have opted to leave the damn tumor in place.
Removing it didn’t fix me. It only made my arm worse.
Stasi keeps telling me to be patient. I think she’s wearing herself thin trying to convince me everything will be fine. That things will get better. She’s putting her all into date nights, most of which she ends up massaging my arm until I pass out on her lap.
It’s so one-sided. I hate it.
I drop my head onto the piano, convinced Liam’s silence is confirmation of my garbage playing.
It’s been months since I’ve felt productive. Fucking years since I’ve created anything of quality to share with fans.
This is the career I chose. I’ve wanted it for as long as I can remember. I’ve worked so hard to get here.
And now I’m failing miserably.
Worry curls in my gut that I’m pissing Liam off. I wouldn’t blame him for getting upset with me. I asked him to bring me here in the middle of the night just to waste his precious time. I dragged Lithos down. Now I’m dragging Liam and Stasi down, too.
I should have stayed in Phoenix.
The piano bench creaks beneath Liam’s muscled form as he sits down beside me. Just having his thigh pressed against mine helps to relieve the invisible pressure crushing my lungs.
“Beau. Look at me.”
I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. “Can’t.”
“Why? ”
“Cause I’ll cry.”
Liam lets out a heavy sigh. “Then cry, Beau. Wish I fucking could.”
My head pops up. When I look at him, his expression is stoic, but there’s pain in his eyes. “Liam.”
He shifts his position on the bench so he’s straddling it. Then he pulls me into his arms.
Tears leak from my eyes. “I’m sorry. I had it all figured out.
All the fucking notes. The tempo. I wrote lyrics, Liam.
I haven’t written decent lyrics in forever, but I’ve been rotting on your couch so long I wrote goddamn lyrics I’m actually excited about.
And I can’t do shit with them because I can’t play through the song without making a mistake. ”
Liam rests his chin on top of my head. “You waited seven years for me.”
“What?” I murmur, confused.
“It’s been seven years since I left you in a New York hotel to board a plane for a European tour. You waited seven years for me , of all fucking people, and yet you can’t give yourself a few months’ grace with music after having your head cut open.”
My chin quivers. “See? Knew you were mad at me.”
He squeezes me tighter. “I’m not mad at you, Beau. I’m mad at the part of your brain that’s making you think you need to wear yourself thin to get back to producing hits. Because you will produce hits again.”
Throat swelling, I fight to swallow. “But what if I don’t? What if I never get it back, even after all your support? I don’t know who I am without music.”
“You’ll always have music. It’s this pressure to produce you don’t fucking need. You don’t owe anyone anything, Beau. Not at the cost of your mental health. ”
The tears really start falling, and soon, I’m sobbing into his shirt. “I’m tired, Liam. I’m so fucking sick of being tired.”
“Then rest, baby. Let me hold you for a while.”
I would be embarrassed that I’ve slipped into those silly hiccup sounds from crying too hard if not for him telling me how perfect I am the whole time. How beautiful and sweet and funny I am.
How I’m everything he’s been waiting for.
After I’ve soaked his shirt, he eases me back and tugs off my hood. I wince, hating being exposed to him when I feel like I’m at my fucking lowest, but he just leans in to press a kiss to my scar. “I’m going to support you no matter what, you know that, right?”
My chin trembles as I lower my head. “I do. I just…want to be me again. I don’t want to be a burden anymore.”
He grips my chin and lifts it. “You are not a burden. Your circumstances may have changed, but you are still you. You are still the man I love.”
“ Fuck .” More tears spill down my cheeks. “You know I love you, too.”
His throat bobs. “Yeah. But it’s nice to hear it.”
My heart thuds painfully. I raise my hands to his cheeks, stroking my fingers over his stubble. His eyes are as dark as coals in the low lighting of the studio, but somehow they hold warmth as he stares back at me.
I lean in to kiss him. “I love you, Liam Beckner. Always have. Always will.”
He nips at my bottom lip. “Good. Now, do I need to keep lecturing you, or are you going to be kinder to yourself?”
I chuckle. “Told you I’m a mess.”
“Beau Whitaker’s human?”
A smile eases onto my face. “Human as fuck, baby.”
His fingers slide into my hair. “The only baby here is you. ”
The bells jingle above the door, and we both turn to see our girl walking in. My mood instantly improves. She’s wearing our clothes, my sweats and his hoodie. Her hair is down in loose waves that tumble to her elbows.
“Couldn’t fall back asleep without you two.” She gives a shy shrug.
I hold out my arms to her. “Come here, sweetheart.”
She hurries over, allowing me to pull her onto my lap. Her hand brushes along my damp cheek. “You were crying.”
“Hole in my head left room for a lot of big feelings,” I say with a smile. "Ah, shit. Don’t do that. Please don’t be sad.” I do my best to kiss away her frown. “I’m fine. I promise. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’m going to spend my life making it up to you, okay?”
“It’s not a debt, Beau,” she says solemnly.
“Okay. Yeah.” I nod. “I’m sorry.”
After I hold her for a while, I hand her over to Liam. My heart swells as I watch him kiss her tenderly.
Is this really the same man who was terrified of relationships?
Feeling inspired by his bravery to face his demons, I straighten up on the piano bench and stretch out my fingers. “I know it’s late, but can I give it another go?”
Liam pecks a kiss to Stasi’s lips and looks over at me. “As long as you’re not doing it for fans.”
I grin. “Forget the fans. I want to play for the two of you.”